The world, more than ever right now, feels like it’s rapidly and irrevocably changing—and fashion, as evidenced by the most recent developments at New York Fashion Week, is by necessity evolving alongside it. And as designers continue to grapple with the future, in what format and on what time frame should clothes be shown? How to make their production ecologically sustainable? A growing number of them have been turning for answers to the textile traditions of the past.

A visit to the tucked-away space at 296 Elizabeth Street (unusually, and crucially for its appeal, just north of Houston) feels a bit like a trip to two continents in miniature. In the front, Voz’s long, fluid dresses and poncho-like coats greet visitors alongside the tall wooden floor loom on which some of them were actually woven. Pass through what feels like a portal to find Studio 189’s tropical flora–filled showroom and boutique, where you can buy (or custom-order for a perfect fit) hand-tie-dyed suits or pop-star jumpsuits in traditional Ghanaian prints. The two lines couldn’t look more different, but by staging their shared mission in a cozy cool-chick setting—everything handmade and fair and with a warm-and-fuzzy story behind it, down to the free-range alpaca fibers—they’ve pulled off what too few ethical fashion purveyors have yet managed, which is to convey a point of view.

On the eve of the new space’s opening this weekend, Vogue.com sat down with Dawson, Erwiah, and Aarons and her cofounder Irys Kornbluth, to discuss their collaboration and the shift towards conscientious commerce.

How did you find each other?Irys Kornbluth: We all learned about each other from the article that you wrote last year for Vogue [laughs]. And we looked at the list and were like, Who are these awesome people?

Abrima Erwiah: We reconnected in June at the Other Festival. We were right across from each other and I think the only artisan-centered brands at that festival, which is a women’s empowerment and diversity in leadership conference founded by Dee Poku, a good friend of Rosario’s.

Your brands are essentially doing the same thing, but on different continents and with different end results.A.E.: We both believe in the artisan; we both exist for that reason. We wanted to see essentially marginalized communities and people who are doing this badass work added to the value chain. We both exist to empower the indigenous woman and her culture and her spirit. We are doing it in different places, but we’re doing it together.

Co-retailing is in the air right now; you’re just a few blocks away from 97, where seven different female designers have joined forces.Rosario Dawson: It’s also to celebrate the expertise that everyone brings to the table as women who are enterprising and innovating a business and recognizing other women—and men—who are doing great work in these communities. This store is a perfect representation of the next level of that. Looking at other entrepreneurs and saying, “How can we not be in competition with each other but take each other to the next level?”

Jasmine Aarons: We founded Voz in order to rehumanize our connection to our clothes and the people who make our clothes. Now our store is doing the same in a collaborative structure. To bring that intimacy and human connection back.

R.D.: I think it’s the natural graduation. Our technology has created the global citizen now. There’s been such a push with the food industry, really getting to recognize the people who are doing the work. People want to know. I don’t just want to hear that a dress is made in China. By who in China? With the technology we have, why can’t we do that? And now we’re able to do that. Okay, cool—then why does this feel different than something I bought somewhere else? Because it wasn’t just made in a machine, it was hand-dyed. It was touched lovingly. It feels different. There’s something about that; when you know there’s a human touch there, it has a different vibe to it, and you hold on to it and you love it differently.

This part of Noho has a more human feel to it than some areas of New York.A.E.: For Rosario and me, because we grew up in New York, this neighborhood is pretty special. I had my first fashion job on Prince Street. It was a very artistic, small store; Supreme had just opened. Now it’s kind of funny that we’re coming back. That kind of new-designer creativity seems to be returning to this neighborhood.

R.D.: Having grown up downtown, I’m so grateful to be part of the storytelling of that space—that this is not some place to escape; it’s always changing. And just seeing how many different personalities and traditions and cultures and people come through there. It’s always been a particularly transient part of New York. I like the idea that this space is close in proximity to all the shopping in Nolita, but the person gets to walk in and have that special time and get to experience something. That’s what New York is about. It’s about discovering things, and I think this allows people to have a proper New York moment.

My grandmother was a seamstress. It’s beautiful to work in a completely different capacity than when I was younger, but in a way that still represents where I came from.

J.A.: I was giving one of my weavers, who’s now in charge of production, a ride home late at night in Chile. And she started crying and said, “When I was a child I walked this road barefoot, and now I’m directing production for a luxury fashion line.” And her dream was for us to open a store in New York.

A.E.: It’s beautiful because each and every one of us is opening our networks to allow as many people as possible to do something, to live their dream, to try. It’s not the four of us—it’s all of us.